


Anatomy

by MetgalaStyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 07:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetgalaStyles/pseuds/MetgalaStyles
Summary: In which Harry is an artist and a certain blue eyed boy seems to spark his interest"You have been on my mind for so long now, I know it sounds weird but...please you inspire me. Let me draw you", he speaks slowly."Is this a bad imitation of Titanic or are you hitting on me?"





	1. Chapter 1

"That's not right. No," he grumbles as he throws his paintbrush against the small canvas in front of him.

He runs a ring clad hand through his hair in a frustrated manner as he looks at the canvas with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

The brush left a grey streak across the drawing he was trying to make perfect, but it seems he can't.

He is a perfectionist, he easily gets frustrated when something wouldn't work the way he wanted it to.

He's just thankful his frustration changed over the years.  
When he was in highschool he would cry whenever he was very frustrated, nowadays he just got restless and he got the desire to try again until it was perfect.  
It was stress to him, being frustrated. How people can cope with constant stress has always been a mystery to him.

But he loved the challenge.  
He didn't start easy when he first started drawing, no.  
He started with a portrait of da Vinci, not with small sketches of flowers or some objects like rubbers and pencils.

He was so frustrated, crumbled more than 30 white papers and started all over again.

He smiles slightly at the memories of his frustrated and snappy younger self. How thankful he is that his mum and sister always helped him through those times when he couldn't think straight anymore.

At least he isn't snappy anymore.  
Still gets frustrated easily, but not rude or annoyed when someone wants to help him. He starts to embrace it. The fact, that people care about him enough to distract him from confusing times or just hold him whenever it would get too much make his heart swell with adoration.

He looks at the canvas with the almost finished portrait of a woman he found on the internet.

It was black and white, with grey details and striking golden eyes.

The picture originally showed a blue eyed brunette but he thought brown eyes fit better.

He made sure to colour the eyes a light brown and golden tone.  
Brown eyes were beautiful in his opinion, when the sun shines and the iris would glow not Brown but golden or yellow, they would shine like the most pure amber.

Sighing he puts the canvas to the side to dry, maybe he repaints the whole thing later or he includes the grey paint streak in the hair, making it seem like the wind blows up her hair.

He washes the brushes and puts them away neatly.

Neatly.

Somewhat that's ironic as well.

He is the most chaotic person ever. But he is neat and tidy whenever it comes to his art supplies.

His apartment is messy, shirts and button ups alongside jeans and pillows are thrown on the floor.  
His bathroom was full of towels and half molten candles he never cared to pick up.

He is messy, but he hates dust and dirt. You could pick up a shirt for underneath his bed and not a speck of dust would be seen.

Maybe Harry was just lazy, but then again he wasn't. He spends hours upon hours painting and cleaning his apartment, working out or just strolling around the city of London.

He prepares himself a cup of tea while he watches Leo -his cat- clean himself.

I couldn't do this even when I'm doing yoga all the time, he thinks.

It would be a lie if he said he never did try to imitate the pose at least once when he was a child.

He had cats before, was fascinated the way they were so flexible and gracile. Well, when they did not knock over the christmas tree his mum and he spent the whole day decorating.

He stopped trying to be this flexible when his sister laughed at him.  
To be fair he did look ridiculous back then, lying on his side and curled up while desperately trying to reach his hip with his head.

But he got revenge; stole her makeup and her favourite scarf and hid it for solid eight and a half months.

He takes his steaming mug and Leo and walks outside on the small balcony.

Harry sets both down and places himself in the comfortable folding chair he bought some years ago.  
It looks ratty, the green and yellow striped fabric lost its colour over the time the sun shone on it, the rims are frilly and the wood also had better days. But he liked the chair, it was comfortable and whenever he felt like he needed a timeout he would go outside and sit down, calming down and enjoying the normal noise of the city. For some minutes he could always forget his worries, sitting in the chair he got for maybe 5 quid, maybe more.

The run down chair was one of the first things he got for his apartment. Not an overly expensive couch or so many decorations he can fill two floors. He knew what he wanted. And for that, he had to save every Cent he could.

He wants to be a big name in the art scene.

Not because he would earn lots of money by selling the pictures but because he wants people to see how he expresses himself. He however is still trying to find himself and his own place, so that makes everything a tad more complicated. But he will get there. He just knows. Just like his Idol did.

He doesn't copy da Vinci, he is inspired. And this inspiration makes him want to have a muse.

One he can draw.  
One he can talk to when he was bored. Don't get it wrong, he has friends. But since they were full time workers or at university they never really do that much together.

Harry was a latitudinarian, he works at a local tourist information centre but he aspires to be a full time artist.

Not caring about what time he gets up, what he has to wear to look presentable.  
Not caring about when he goes to bed or when he works.

He thinks his job was ok, it pays for the rent and food, but he is determined to be something bigger. Something better.

Not a guy who tells people where they find Nr. 10 Downing street or which metro they should use to get to the London eye.

He wants to be the guy who has an important role in the art scene and people would respect him and his works. But its hard. Doubts fill his head constantly.

Am I good enough? Can I do what I want? There are so many amazing and talented artist out there, why would I make it out of everyone?

Sure, he already sold some drawings and canvases he was proud of. But he wasn't a respected and demanded artist yet.

But he will be.  
He just knows.

Even if the way is long and will need some sacrafices.

\--- 

He sleep drunkenly stumbles through his dark flat, the sun merely peeking through the windows as it was just 5am.

But he needs to get ready.  
Get ready for his 0815 job that maybe would bring him a small step closer to his goal. Maybe today someone will give him about a million quid he would accept. Ok, probably not. But maybe 10 quid.

Maybe today he would find a muse. He has a weird feeling in his gut, maybe this tells him today is the day.

A day full of 'mayby's.

After gulping down a mug of steaming hot coffee and eating a burnt toast , burning his throat and tongue in the process, he feeds Leo some banana and some cat food and exits the apartment, walking down the sidewalk.

He likes walking, prefers it over driving a car or riding busses and bikes. It wasn't as fast but he loved every minute.  
He can clearly listen to the sounds of the city and watch people walk past him to get to their jobs or families, living their daily lives.  
But not only he likes walking because he notices the natural and civilized world, he also saves money for gas or tickets.  
Not to mention that he walks because he wants to help the earth, he doesn't want to produce more C02 than necessary. Oh and he can't afford a car for sure.

Well, and his work place is about a mile away and getting a car for that short distance would be nonsense.

The feeling deep down in his stomach was making him feel uneasy, a bit restless.  
Not a frustrated restless, but an excited one.

As he walks down and looks around the feeling got stronger, the air grew humid and heavy at the same time.

And some minutes later he knows why he felt weird.

It was raining, nearly hailing, and he unfortunately forgot to get an umbrella or at least a jacket with a hood.

He curses silently, a string of every negative word starting with 'f' and 's' flowing out of his mouth as he looks around quickly, desperate to find a dry shelter from the rain.

"Flower symphony," he reads quietly.

Not thinking for long he quickly walks inside and immediately is welcomed by a warm gush of the air inside.

The air smells like various flowers, he can definitely smell roses and tulips out of the chaos of scents.

Some stand-up displays were holding buckets of different flowers, near the windows were big pots with different grasses and small flowers were displayed on shelves near the wall.

"Raining like crazy, huh?," he looks around until he finds the source of the melodic voice.

A rather small man standing behind a counter, wearing a green apron. Blue eyes sparkling amused, probably because Harry looks crestfallen.

The seemingly fluffy Brown hair fights against the hair products that holds them up in a quiff, some smaller strands already escaped the style.

He is breathtaking.

The artist takes his time to look at the man who clearly works here.  
He notices the tattoos that decorate his arms, the glowing skin.

"Uh. Yes, it does," he replies, still a bit starstruck.

The man is perfect to him. His body is heavenly. It is perfect for being drawn.  
The young man was fit, the muscles would look amazing illuminated by yellowish or white light, spread out on soft white sheets draped over a ottoman and maybe over the man's legs or crotch. 

He imagines how he would draw him, in soft watercolours first, later oil on canvas.  
Soothing colours, symbolizing the calmness radiating from his eyes and his body posture.

Maybe he would have him lay on his side or on his belly, drawing the muscles that would look more defined by the light.

But now wasn't the time to think about this, he has to go to work or he would be late.

Well.. later than he already is now.

"Do you by chance have an umbrella I could borrow? I gotta get to work somewhat dry."

The breathtaking man answers with a smile and a nod, walks to the back of the shop and returns with a dark green umbrella.

Not only good looking but also friendly, he thinks.

"Thank you," the curly haired man says and smiles thankfully. "I'll bring it back either today or tomorrow."

After a last glance he exits the shop and quickly walks to the tourist info and starts working.

In his break he eats a sandwich and chats with his co-worker Ayleen.

The brown pixie cut adoring her face and dark brown eyes just right.  
She is a good soul, smiling all the time and helpful as an angle.

He remembers one time the two of them used their salary to buy pizza and walked around London and gave them to homeless people.  
It was Ayleen' s idea.

She knows about his plans and she supported him. She actually bought two of his drawings. A sketched portrait of Ayleen and a colourful parrot in the forest.

After work he walks through the wet streets of London, entering the small flower shop.

He looks around but doesn't spot the man from earlier.

Was too good to be true, he thinks and places the umbrella on the counter and walks back home.

Would the man be there again tomorrow?  
He hopes the answer to this question is yes.

He peels his skinny jeans of and replaces then with grey trainers, the blue button up exchanges with a ripped rolling stones shirt.

Well, thanks to his lively cat it was ripped.  
But he didn't have a heart to throw away his favourite shirt so he just secured it with two safety pins and just wore it at home.

He feeds Leo and chills on the couch, scratching the grey striped cat behind the ears as it purrs softly.

He would find this man, at least know his name.

\---

Everyday he stops by the flower shop, hopes he meets the man again.

He isn't obsessed. He is rather fond of him, he is determined to draw this human being.

He sketched some portraits just from his memories but he grew frustrated.  
He always seemed to find a flaw in the picture.

The strands of hair aren't long enough.  
The nose was drawn three millimetres too big.  
The freckles weren't in correct order to him.

His eyes weren't blue enough.  
His eyes weren't sparkling and calming enough.  
The light bags under the man's eyes he noticed the second he saw him were too big, sometimes too small.  
The crinkles didn't look right to him.

He threw all of the sketches away.  
He was frustrated, still is.

Not gonna lie the artist bought 4 notebooks with blank pages and drew on every single one, ripping it out and throwing it away.

Now that he thinks about it, it does sound quite creepy. More than just a bit. But he can't help it. Every fiber of his body wants to get to know the amn in the flower shop better. To draw him, making each and every of his sketches and paintings sheer perfection.

Was he too bad of an artist to draw such a natural beauty, he wonders ever since he burned the -in his opinion- worst sketch of the beautiful human's face with a lighter.

Times like these, where he cannot get anything right, when faults occupy every second he is concious, are times you look at him and see his frustration. It seems to be burnt in every pore of his face.

But then, da Vinci had doubts, too.

And now everybody knows his name.

He sighs as he places his pencil on the desk he was sitting on top of.

He draws on the cardboard backside of a notebook since he already used the papers and failed miserably-in his opinion.

He is determined to draw the nameless man until he thought it is perfect.

"Well Leo, looks like we can't go outside today," he murmurs softly as he picks up the cat that was curled up against his thigh.

It was raining again, not because they were in London. Nope, but it has been so warm and humid the last weeks and now the heavens decided to give the city some rain.

It isn't that great for his plans, he wanted to go to the flower shop and look if the man was there again.

But he knows better than walking half a kilometre through London in this heavy rain.

He prefers to stay dry and warm, drinking a cup of chai tea or a latte. Actually, scratch that Latte. He doesn't like caffeein too much.

Harry leans against the window and listens how the heavy raindrops collide with the clear glass, his foggy mind clearing up.

He stares at the glass, a gentle smile making its way on his lips. He does what every person would do, listen to the rain and watch two raindrops, pretending they were racing each other.

He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and dials. After the fourth ring he answers.

"Yeah?"

"Oh hey Lucas, how ya doing?"

"In doing well, man. Thanks for asking. What you been up to?" The man asks.

"Ah same old. Was wondering if you wanna hang out tonight, watch movies and eat junk food like always."

Whenever Lucas would come around they would end up with takeout, curled up in front of the couch on pillows, commenting the shitty movies they would watch. Sometimes, though, they would talk about everything and nothing at all, about problems they face or happy times. Lucas was Harry's rock in a sense, and Harry was Lucas'.

"Sure, if I can bring a friend of mine. She just moved here a while ago and works with me."

I bet you want some. He is tempted to say that, but keeps his mouth shut.  
Lucas was a bit of a playboy to be honest. Never had a long term relationship, here a girlfriend, there a hook up. But he is nice, always good company and listens to the most random shit Harry likes to talk about.

"Yeah sure, as long as she pays her part of the food bill I won't kick her out," he replies.

They talked a bit more, Harry still looking out of the window.

Later that day the broad man an a rather skinny woman arrive with pasta and pizza.

"At least we have enough food then," the artist comments upon seeing four pizza boxes from Domino's as well as six takeout Aluminium containers from some restaurant.

"Yeah and you owe me 20."

"Why the hell 20? That's like 40 all together."

"Gas money, curls," the woman replies. "Domino's is like four miles away from his flat and that restaurant is close to the London Eye. We were in that old car for a while before we actually got here.

"Don't insult my car. She's old but she brings me to places," Lucas huffs.

"Next place she'll bring you is a cementry.."

He shortly glances at her.

The dark blonde hair and black eyebrows are mesmerising to him.  
Blueish-grey eyes and long dark lashes.

He has to admit she was pretty. Though the nose was a bit big, but he doesn't mind at all, it was a recognisable feature of hers.

He looks at Lucas who grins smugly. He looks back at the woman. "You're nice. I like you. I'm not gonna kick you out."

"You couldn't even if you tried, these little arms aren't lifting me any time soon," she smiles while crossing her arms in front of her small chest.

They banter for a bit, throwing sarcastic remarks and sassy replies from one to another, eat the pizza and pasta.

At the end they are just snuggled up in blankets on the floor.

"This one sentence of the guy with black hair was worse than my mathematic understanding."

"You're bad at maths, too?"

"Duh. At least I can proudly say I've never had mark 5 in maths," Zoe snickers.

"Mark 5?"

Lucas laughs quietly. "Different country, different school system. In Germany they have grades from 1 to 6, six is the worst and one the best. Like A and F."

But what does he know, he is just a man who has big plans but is planless at the same time.

It nears midnight as the two visitors exit the city apartment and part ways.

He thinks a lot when he tidies his flat.

He wasn't tired, still awake from the coffee he had earlier.

His thoughts focus on the small man from the flower shop again.

He's adorable.

He would be his muse. Soon.

\---

He rises and slowly stretches his sore muscles. Sleeping is such a nice thing, the body just shuts down and calms.

He loves dreams.

When he was younger the man would always dream weird things like having a hybrid of flamingo and camel as a pet. Flamel was the name he gave the imagined animal.

Nowadays, his dreams are a little more realistic. Thats why he has a dream journal now. Still wrapped up in the warmth of his blanket cocoon, he sticks one arm out from under the pale grey blanket and grabs the tattered journal and a ball point pen from his night stand, sitting fully up now and resting against the headboard of the bed.

He uncaps the pen and opens the notebook. New page, new dream.

Instead of writing full sentences he just jots down some key words, too lazy to write this much. After quickly writing down the date, he begins:

Sales desk-work-good sell, maybe good sales in future, not only for touristy stuff??

kinda big white dog next to me??- quiet, no barking or growling, attentive, maybe sth bout loyalty-maybe meet someone loyal or nice

white flowers on desk in ugly vase, white-purity?, delicacy, fresh looking-good thing i guess.??, further research

bell chime- dk, shop bell anouncin gnew customer maybe? new people in my life, news..??? further research

He circles the two words "flower" and "bell" before putting his pen aside again, folding the top corner of the page before finally getting up, leaving the warmth of his bed.

His cat lazily walks in side and between his legs, looks up and meows - begging to be fed. "Shit it, you eat more regularly than I do sometimes," Harry mumbles and walks towards the bathroom.

The artist rubs his eyes and showers real quick. After eating and feeding his animalistic companion he exits his apartment.

Today is the day he will ask the man. Or at least get to know him better. If he is actually there today? Luck hasn't been on Harry's side much whenever he tried to find the good looking guy.

He arrives at the flower shop and takes a deep breath.

Many questions and some doubts swarm his head.

Would the man like him?  
Would the man agree to be painted by Harry? Would the question be stupid or actually ok with the guy?  
Or would the man freak out and smack a porcelain vase across his head and shout at him to piss off and to never come back? Let's not hope for that one, he kinda likes having an intact skull and no gushes on his face. Would the man even talk to him like he was a friend other than a normal customer?

He slowly enters the shop, the small bell over the door signalling that a customer is inside.The artist looks around, taking in the different smells and colours.Today the sweet scent of roses is not overpowering in the shop. It's a subtle fragrance, and if you didn't look for it you would miss it for sure.

He can't see anyone else except for the small old lady who takes her time looking at different types of roses at the register. Her wrinkly fingers carefully graze the lucious green leaves, a motherly smile on her thin lips. She has a smile of a mother, the smile you see whenever a mother or grandmother would look at their child with pride and adoration, full of love.

"Here we go, I think this one is just right for the occasion."

He quickly looks around when he hears that voice.

Bystanders may think he would snap his neck because of how fast he looks up and around.

The man was here today.  
He exits a smaller room in the back of the shop -the same one he got the umbrella he lent to the artist a while ago - and gently places a floral arrangement on the counter. His hair is a bit messier than the other day, some strands peeking right up but he doesn't seem to care, content with his appearance.

"I hope some different twigs and roses in yellow and white are ok. We still have the light pink ones, too, but they didn't look that pretty anymore so I thought yellow would be better," he explains to the old woman who smiles gently.

"Yeah, it's just right my love. He loved yellow flowers in general."

The man nods and bids the woman a gentle good bye as she leaves the shop.

Harry looks after her, she definitely had someone this arrangement was for.

"It's sad she has to pick up one like this now."

He furrows his brows and turns back to the man who has his elbows rested on the counter and his chin perched on his hands, a sad sigh leaving his lips when the door gently falls shut behnd the woman.

"Pardon?"

"Her name's Marita. She's a patron, been coming since I started working here about two years ago. She always talked to me about her husband and how happy he was when she brought him flowers in all colours. She explained to me that he was colourblind but got surgery some years ago, so he was able to see more than blurry and brown. She always tells me stories of how he would be so excited when their grandchildren would come around and go on trips with them, because he 'loved experiencing it finally in colour without the weight of heavy glasses on his face' as Marita would say."(This is lowkey inspired by my grandparents, my grandma still visits my grandpa's grave every week at least once)

The artist listens, taking in the information as well as enjoying the soothing and slightly high pitched voice the salesman has.

Harry doesn't know this woman, but he feels like she is in love. A gentle soul with a golden heart. Like his mum. Or Gemma. Or basically everyone in his entire family.

"Uhm...that's all...past tense?" He askes, a bit hesitant.

The small man sighes sadly again.

"Yeah, her husband had Alzheimers and bowel cancer that developed very late but quick. She always told me how he could not remember his own children anymore but whenever she would come around and play music of Elvis he would be so happy and shy around her. Always told her before she left for the day that he had fallen in love with her over the short time he would remember. But he passed away about eight weeks ago."

"How do you know so much about her?"

He stands up again, smiling slightly.

"She is very talkative. Also always asks me how my week was or what my family is doing and showing me pictures of her family and her trips around the country with her friends. She's a kind soul," he pauses for a moment. "But what can I get you. Another umbrella maybe?"

Harry smiles.

"No thank you. But..uh..-" He stops.

Should he actually say he wants do draw him. See him in his most natural moments and capture his beauty on a canvas. Or should he say he wants flowers, being a coward and leaving this question burning in his head and on the tip of his tongue.

"- what flowers would you recommend for a woman who loves flowers, mostly red or pink. And who is in love with spring..?"

Coward. He mentally screams. One simple question God damnit and you were too much of a coward to ask.

"Oh uh..maybe Tulips. Mostly start blooming early April, and we have yellow, red and pinkish ones."

He nods, buys some even though he didn't want flowers. He wouldn't even see his mother because she was on vacation with her husband.

He smiles gratefully at the man after he pays and exits the shop, sighing as soon as the glass door closes behind him.

He really is annoyed he turned around and skipped the question he desperately wanted to ask this man.

No I have to ask now or I'll back out again. He lectures himself inside.

He takes a deep breath and turns around, walks back into the shop.

"Good. You're here again. I forgot something." He is immiteadly greeted by the man's enthusiastic voice.

Harry instantly smiles. He would love to be greeted with that kind of enthusiasm by this man every day. For the rest of his live if possible. But thats just a high hope for now. But hopefully not for much longer.

"Its like..a tradition we give a free flower to people who buy here something for the first time. And since I haven't seen you nuying something here before I assume you are a new customer. So uh..here." The man shuffles around the counter and hold a sunflower towards the tall man.

"Oh uh..thank you." The artist is a bit taken by surprise as he takes the big flower.The bright soft petals making him smile. He's always loved sunflowers. His mum would have some every year in their garden and little Harry would hide behind the meter tall flowers when he played hide'n'seek with Gemma or his friends.

"May...I ask why a sunflower..? Does everyone just get a pretty sunflower?"

He looks at the man and realises for the first time since he's seen the man that he is taller than him. Makes him more adorable and mesmerising, he thinks.

"I think this is you."

'This is me' he repeats the words slowly in his head. It's a simple statement, but he can't wrap his head around it.

"Like. You're tall, lean and lanky. And you still seem kinda..gentle, like the petals...you know? And, I don't know, you seem so happy all the times I've seen you so far. So..yeah.. This is you. Symbolocally. I know it's weird sorry," the small man speaks fast and rather quiet, fiddling with his thumb.

Harry smiles. "I think I like this comparison the most."

The man he still doesn't know the name of looks at him, confusion written on his face.

"To be fair, people compare me to a frog most of the times when I like, smile with my mouth closed or smething like that. So sunflower is by far my favourite," he explains smiling.

He notices that the man in front of him relaxes a bit, smiling so his eyes crinkle slightly. His eyes seem to sparkle.The gentle blue making Harry smile even more, making him fall even more.

"Thank you.. It sounds weird to most people when I explain.."

"Why, it's kinda cute I think. You just take the most noticeable feature and instead of saying something mean or weird you actually compare them to a beautiful flower. I like that. Not a lot of people can do that, I think."

"Really?" The salesman beams at him.

"Yes. But..what would you say when I ask you what my favourite flower would be?" He smiles down at him.

The man thinks for a second before he excitedly half-screams "Freesia!"

Harry looks at him and nods, smiling widely. He doesn't have the heart to tell him he hasn't had a favourite flower so far. But the way he just smiles and is excited about this makes him feel like freesias are his freaking favourites now.

The sparkling eyes that just reflect the man's happiness and enthusiasm are enough to make his knees weak.

The artist bites his lip, scared that if he smiles wider his face splits. Not really, but his cheeks hurt so much from the bright smile that he has on his lips now, dimples on display.

"Ok I have a question for you now..no wait..two..ok actually three," Harry stutters, a little nervous again.

"Go on." The pretty male smiles up at him.

"Ok..uh what's your name..? Mine is Harry."

"Well, Harry, my name is Louis."

Harry nods, smiling. The name fits, he thinks. Sounds royal and soft, just like the man in front of him looks like.

"Second?". Louis asks gently. "Right, do you know what a bundle of white flowers in general means? Like, I don't know."

"Well, fresh flowers in general usually mean like something good when it comes to ones love life. And white usually means purity or wisdom. Why?"

"Honestly? I had a dream and there was just a random bunch of white flowers. So who would be better to ask about the meaning of flowers than a florist.," he grins again, this time effectively making Louis smile as well. "And the last question?"

"Well...and the last question ... You have been on my mind for so long now, I know it sounds weird but...please you inspire me. Let me draw you", he speaks slowly. He looks at the man, searching his face for any sign of doubts.

But he was still smiling, a bit confused maybe. But smiling.

"Is this a bad imitation of Titanic or are you hitting on me?"

He was a bit confused why the small man in front of him reacted that way.

"You know..the scene where Rose and Jack are in Rose's cabin and she lays on the couch naked so Jack could draw her?"

He watched Titanic before.. maybe.. he wasn't sure but it seems familiar.

After he shows no reaction to the declaration of the salesman the latter sighs dramatically.

"That is a classic! Tell me you've watched it."

Harry slowly shakes his head. What does a movie have to do with his question.

"God damnit, you have to watch it. My heart will go on?" He raises his brow questioningly.

After no further reaction he asks again: "Celene Dion?"

That's a celebrity Harry knew. He nods and the male in front of him sights again.

"At least something."

"Uh..Louis..you know that...my question was a serious one and no joke..?"

Louis looks up at him, looking a bit overwhelmed, confused too, the smile long gone since Harry revealed he doesn't know Titanic.

"What?"

"I want to draw you. You're a handsome man and you inspire me. I'm an artist...not well known yet but I'm working on that one an-"

"Dude I literally have known your name for 10 minutes and you want me to sit down and be drawn for hours?" Louis interrupts.

The artist looks down, a bit defeated since he was serious and his inspiration was making rather unfriendly remarks.

"I mean... it was just.. a question.. but I was serious. I really want to draw you, Louis whatever-your-lastname-is."

The salesman looks to the side and chews on his bottom lip, probably deep in thought.

"What.. would I need to do then?"

Harry smiles slightly. Usually, when someone asks questions, they are interested and consider it. 

" Well.. like you said, sitting for hours without movement.."

It was rather uncommon for Harry that he was this straight forward to someone, usually he was the thoughtful and happy, yet gentle person.

He always has been like this, he was so happy when his mum told them she had a boyfriend, he was crying happy tears as his mum said yes in front of the altar when the priest asked if she wanted to marry Robin.  
He was giddy when he rented his own first apartment.

"I have to..think about that, ok?" he asks.

The man hums silently, nodding.

"I'll think about it, ok Harry?"

The curly haired man nods again watches as the smaller man fumbles his phone out of his jeans pocket.

"If I want to contact you... I should get your number..," he mumbles shyly.

Harry nods and saves his number in the phone given to him.

"I should go now, or else..the sunflower will dry out.."

Louis nods and quietly bids him goodbye before he walks out of the shop again.

At least he will think about it...maybe..hopefully..

__

It has been four days, seven hours and thirtytwo minutes since he's seen him. His inspiration.

Not that he'd count.  
Ok maybe he does.  
But that's only because he remembers he got a call right after leaving the shop half a week ago to confirm his purchase of opera tickets.

Yeah, he's into opera. As well as art and classical music.  
Some think he is a nerd, but he is just interested in more interesting things than some pop electro songs with no meaning behind.

Hopefully he texts or calls me...at least to say he doesn't do it..

The uncertain outcome makes him feel like hes being eaten alive.

He is lost in his thoughts as he cleans a bowl that held milk for Leo.

The cat purrs as it rubs its head against the artist's calf, probably thinking he'll get another meal.

"No, Leo. You've had enough today. Don't want you to get fat, kitty," the man coos.

His phone lights up on the table. But well. Unfortunately he doesn't see it, cause it's muted.

Later that day he cooks rice as he takes his phone again and sees a call from an unknown number. Has to be him. Please.

He dials the number, gnawing on his fingernails. It is a nervous habit of him.

Gnawing on fingernails, biting his bottom lip until it looks chewed open, tapping his fingers on a table repeatedly, running his hand through his hair and touseling it even more.

"Yeah? Harry, is that you?," the voice states.

He smiles slightly. He really called him. The result is the most interesting now.

"Uh yeah it's me. You called me?"

"Oh yeah, I.. uh. Well here is Louis by the way, in case you didn't know yet," he hears a quiet, nervous chuckle before he listens to the man again.

"I thought about your offer...or question.. Or whatever.. For now I would agree.. But.. before I actually do it..i want to dunno get to know your work..and you maybe.." Louis rambles.

Harry, who has been tapping his pointer and middle finger on his table since he started the call, smiles because his Inspiration is rambling because of him. Probably a nervous habit of Louis and he does find it endearing.

"I understand that, totally. Would you like to meet up some time? At a neutral place for like pizza, coffee or ice cream?"

"I don't like coffee. But..pizza sounds good. Do you know the parlour near the tourist information on Brixton road?"

"Oh, yeah I know that one. Perfect pizza, almost like in Italy," he explains.

He knows the tourist information and the pizza parlour, considering he works there and sometimes picks up a pizza for dinner whenever he is too lazy to fix something himself.

"How about next Tuesday at seven?"

"Sounds good, but could we make it at six already, have to study later," the salesman explains.

Study? Well, school's important.

"Yeah, should be working for me. Should I bring something?"

"Maybe some pictures of your paintings.. so I know if you at least have talent."

"I'm totally talented. The best. Not famous, but great. You'll see."

"I hope so, Harry. So..i see you then. Be on time, please, and maybe watch weather reports first so you can bring an umbrella."

Harry can literally hear the smirk that is on Louis' lips, but he doesn't mind.

"I will. And why should I bring an umbrella when you bring one," he smirks himself.

Louis laughs on the other side of the phone, before bidding Harry goodbye and hanging up.

That was a start. A good one.


	2. Chapter 2

He was panicking. Maybe not. But maybe yes. He's not sure.

He maybe was just nervous that he meets Louis today. Like, they actually planned it this time, not a random meet up that's just happening because of seemingly a million and four coincidences, but because both want to meet up again. It's not a big deal, people meet up all the time, but to Harry, this meet up is a really big deal. This evening would show if Louis agrees or if the artist has to find someone else to find inspiration in.

He walks towards the living room of his flat and looks at the canvases that are leaning against the wall.

He can't pick out his favourites, the ones he would show Louis. He wanted to show him his perfected works, not his sketches.

He takes a picture of a canvas that holds a realistic drawing of a human embryo, one of the picture of the vitruvian man he designed himself and a drawing of a compass on yellowish background to make it look old.

He looks at the clock again and sucks in a breath when he realizes that he would be late if he doesn't leave now.

But the thing is, Louis wanted to see five pictures or more.   
They've been chatting from time to time and Louis insisted that he wanted five pictures because the more pictures he sees, the better he would be able to evaluate Harry's talent.

Sighing he quickly takes his sketchbook and wallet and exits the flat, yelling goodbye to, well, his cat.

Leo may be a cat, but the artist thinks he also has feelings and would be sad if he wouldn't get a goodbye or a good morning or a hello. And he has seen and felt how petit Leo would get if he doesn't get enough attention. We're talking knocke over decor and scratched up furniture and canvases here.

He walks the way to the pizza place and walks inside, sitting in a booth close to the window because he wants to see Louis when he arrives.

He takes out his old black leather sketchbook and flips through the pages.It's been a while since he had looked at this book, usually he uses the new one and keeps the old ones out of sentiment, never looking through them again after he's filled one though.

He looks at the sketches and detailed drawings of plants and animals like Leo or some birds he'd watch sit on his windowsill.

Some sketches he designed himself, a birdcage here and some different flowers there.

"Hello, Harry."

The artist looks up as soon as he hears the melodic voice he can't describe. He could draw the soundwaves, the man who has this perfect voice. But he could never ever describe it. It was just too perfect to him to try and put it into words.

He smiles brightly at him and greets him while Louis sits in down opposite of him.

"Did you wait for long?,: he asks.

"No, I've been here for maybe five minutes now. No big deal," he resures.

He nods and they order a family size pizza for the two of them as well as drinks.

"So show me some of your work, Harry. I wanna know what I may be get myself into," louis grins happily because now his curiosity is about to be satisfied.

"Oh uh..yeah..so here are some of my canvasses.. mostly inspired by da Vinci...i think you re-"

"Oh I know this one," the smaller lad exclaims as he sees the 'Harry version' of the vitruvian man.

"Its called vitruvian man..it is a proportion study made by da Vinci himself. It's amazing in my opinion," the artist explains.

Louis listens and nods. He wasn't that interested in art but the way the curly haired man talks passionately about it makes him just want to shut up and listen.

"But I wanted more than three, Harold," he teases smiling.

"Harold? Whatever.. yeah here I uh...have a sketchbook... It's a bit old..not the best sketches and pictures..here."

Harry slides the tattered book across the table and Louis flips it open, looking at the drawings and scribbles on the paper pages.

"Ok...these are sketches..?"

Harry nods. He knows they aren't perfect, far from it. He'd rather show Louis his perfect drawings than these ugly doodles with uneven lines and no proper colouring.

"I want this one. Can I have it?"

Harry raises his brow and looks at the page Louis has opened.

It shows a drawing of a clockwork, some lighter lines showing the cogwheels move.

"You..want..that?," he questions.

" Yeah. A copy. Or a redrawing maybe."

"Oh...i mean..itz just an old sketchbook.. it didn't bring the new one...you can just..rip it out I guess."

"Rip it out? Are you crazy? This book is an artwork. It belongs together, all of the pages."

Harry nods, a bit starstruck that his inspiration thinks his imperfect sketches are good.

"You...can also keep the whole book.. I mean..i don't really need it anyways..," the artist shyly explains.

Louis looks at him surprised, eyes as wide as saucers.

"I..wow...thank you..if you ever want it back..you can just ask and you'll get it back. Yeah? I'll keep it safe, I promise."

Harry smiles and nods, and once their pizza is done they eat silently.

This silence is one of Louis' favourites, the comfortable silence amd the occasional comments or little sentences between chewing and swallowing the piece of pizza.

"So..what do you study? Or do you even study? Sorry if I'm curious bu-" Harry rambles.

"I'm in college. Wanna study music and art later to be a teacher."

"That's quite a plan."

"I know. It's kinda my dream to work with children and teach them..you know?"

Harry nods, smiling gently. "Yeah, I understand. It's my dream to be a big name in the art scene.." 

"Isn't that hard? Like..trying to be famous?" Louis asks curiously.

"I don't really want to be famous.. I don't even like the word famous, it takes away..a lot of substance one has to offer I guess. I just kinda want to be respected for my works."

"And why me? Like..you said I.. inspire you.?" The statement was rather a question, so Harry nods.

"Yes. It's just..you. I don't really know.. your attire.. your face and your body in general. The way you just...your body language. It made me think. Think about how I would draw you to make you look the most perfect. I," he sighs, "I can't really explain it. It's unexplainable."

Louis nods, listening to the artist. He always thought he wasn't that special, a maybe somewhat good looking face in the crowd with a too female body for his liking.But then, this handsome, clumsy man shows up, wet with rain, and tells him he is special, more than anyone else. Louis doesn't know why but it makes his heart swell with adoration and love.

Harry pays for their food and drinks and they exit the parlour, full of pizza and walking a bit closer next to each other than necessary.

"Can we..like...walk a bit? I feel like if I go on the bus I would vomit, I ate so much," Louis explains a bit hesitant.

"Yeah, sounds good. Maybe talk a bit more, so you get to know the dude who wants to force you to sit still for hours, innit?" Harry teases, slighly smirking.Louis noticed that Harry eases up rather quickly. At the beginning of their little meeting, the man was a stuttery shy mess, and now he's teasing Louis and smiling.

I made him feel omfortable. The thought alone makes Louis swoon a bit.

"I haven't agreed yet, so my face or any part of my body for that matter won't be near your canvas," Louis grins.

"Then maybe you should so I can draw it."

"Pff, all about me is so out of your league. Be serious Harold, I'm too good for you."

Harry barks out a laugh and smiles at a beaming Louis next to him.

"How did we go from getting to know each other better to you being better than my entire existence," Harry laughs.

" Just telling the truth here and you know it. You just need to accept it."

They chat while they walk, simply enjoying the occasional silence and the silly comments from both of them.

The minute Harry enters his flat he sighs happily and greets a sleepy cat, smiling brightly.

And he smiles even brighter when he reads a text from Louis just before going to bed saying "I'll do it :)"

\--- 

He usually waits for the moment it hits him. The moment inspiration occupies his mind and let's his mind go blank as he paints.

He doesn't think about the things he paints, doodles, sketches.   
The things that bother him are pushed in the back of his head and ignores them for the time being.

So far, it worked for him.

And then he came around.  
This man who he thinks is his muse, is inspiration and only his.   
The man who he is so fond of without even knowing him that long.   
The man that he has on his mind when he wants to draw something else.

It's a distraction now, having Louis on his mind ever so often when he just wants to paint something that doesn't have any relation to the curvy man.

He tried to draw roses just yesterday, but instead of giving them a lovely pink colour with little red dots and small lines he used a soft yet strong blue for the gentle petals and added small details with a dark midnight blue.   
He painted with a blank mind, didn't realize that he used the colour that comes closest to the salesman's eyecolour.

After he was finished, he realized his -as he calls it- big mistake.

He's irritated how one person can affect his artwork so much just by agreeing to be drawn.

The canvas with the rose picture still stands on the easel as he looks at it, it amost mocks him.

I can't just throw it out, everything else is perfect except for the colours, he thinks.

Maybe sell them somewhere, or hang them up where I can't see this failure anymore.

It's not uncommon that he beats himself up over one small flaw until it's out of his sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

He sighs and sets his Christmas mug down on the counter and stalks over to the easel, subconsciously glaring at the canvas. It's not quite christmas yet, but he got that mug as a present from his mum when he first moved out and ever since it's his favourite mug in his kitchen.

He's good at taking criticism, he's ok when others tell him he did something wrong or nicely advise him to do something a different way.   
But he's never good at admitting his faults. Not when it comes to his passion.

'This drawing technique isn't that good for a newbie' he was told. He learned from it, got better and tried again.

'You maybe shouldn't draw reflecting stuff that much, it looks good but I wouldn't count it to your best works' someone said. He understood and admitted that to himself, still practices that but doesn't go too far.

'You should do portraits more, they look so realistic' he heard someone sat to him. He smiled and took the advice, drawing more and more human faces, even some animals in the most realistic way he was able to.

But admitting to himself that he failed at something as simple as colouring a flower. He couldn't. He can't. He won't.

Maybe pretend I wanted it that way. Yeah, that's gonna work.

He gently grabs the canvas and places it against the wall of his living room, the acrylic paint not fully dried yet.

He walks back in the kitchen and takes his phone out, looking if someone uploaded a notice on wanting a picture.He has a little online shop, not much and not very well known, but from time to time someone requests a hand painted canvas for a reasonable price. Sometimes he gets asked over mail or instagram as well, but all of these methods don't bring together as much money as he would need to pay for things.

After some minutes of unsuccessful search he sighs and places his phone back on the kitchen table.

He picks up Leo who was rubbing his head against his calves since the artist sat down again, and gently scratches the animal between the pointy ears, causing the animal to piurr gently.

He remembers the one time he tried to draw Leo. Let's just say it didn't end well. Except you think several scratches along the arms and hands as well as a sketch paper with cat poo are a happy ending.

This cat was very resentful, not letting Harry pet him for days just because he accidentally stepped on his tail once.   
Or he peed all over the floor when the artist moved the couch from it's original spot underneath the big window towards a wall. Maybe it wasn't really on purpose, but Harry thinks it was.

This cat was simply pain in the arse at some point.   
But he loves him nevertheless, good company and always up for a cuddle session when the curly haired man felt down or was exhausted.

His phone vibrates and he snaps out of his thoughts, picking up.

"Yeah?"

"Oh uh, hey Harry," the high pitched voice exclaimes on the other side of the phone. "I was wondering..when we would like, you know, start this painting stuff."

Harry smiles a little, tapping his pointer finger repeatedly on the table.

"Well, Louis, I'm free today and tomorrow from 6. How 'bout you?"

He hears some rustling on the line and then how the man clears his throat.

"In free today.. no work or studies.. like can I come over or like are you busy, I would be totally cool if we waited or do it next week or some time, if you don't wanna see me today or something," he rambles.

"Louis, breath, don't want you to die over there, yeah? It'd be great if you'd come over today. And we don't have to, you know, start with the end product. We can start smaller..a portrait or something like this, so you can get comfortable with, well, sitting around for hours without moving and constantly being stared at," Harry chuckles quietly.

"That would..be great. Uh, so where do you live?"

After Harry tells him the address he makes quick work with cleaning up a bit. Putting mugs away, vacuuming the living room and accidentally sucking Leo's tail in with the vacuum cleaner which results in a angry cat and an artist who tries to say sorry to an angry cat.

Hopefully he doesn't piss everywhere again, Harry thinks.

Earlier than he thinks the bell chimes and Harry stumbles in the hallway, opening the door smiling wide.

"Hey," Harry exclaims happily while Louis just stands there, smiling shyly.

"Hi," he says as he enters the flat after the artist makes some space for him to do so.

"Did you find your way here easily?" Harry questions to get Louis relax.

"Yeah, but you forgot to give me the house number so I kinda knocked on the one down the road and asked if some artist who never carries an umbrella lives here. Surprisingly the nice gentleman knew exactly who I was talking about and directed me to this house," Louis grins.

He was one hundret percent kidding, but Harry wanted to believe him. He notices the way Louis' shoulders relax a bit as he told him this obvious lie, notices the teasing pitch of his voice and how he visibly calms down, nothing compared to him on the phone some minutes ago.

"You'll never let me live this thing with the umbrella down, will you?"

"Nope," the smaller man answers and grins even more.

Harry huffs playfully, smiling slightly.

"Well, come, gotta show you where you have to sit for a long while."

The two enter the open living room and Louis looks at the numerous pictures of artwork at the walls in awe.

" You made all of these?"

Harry nods and let's the salesman take in the many pictures, while he takes in the beauty radiating off his inspiration.

He notices the man stands in front of a picture he painted recently. It shows his mum on her wedding day. He chose the picture because, well, his mum looks so happy in this shot and she's undeniably beautiful.

"Who is this?" Louis asks.

"My mum, some years ago. Wanted to give the canvas to her and her husband on their anniversary this year, though I'm not finished with Robin yet," the artist explains and points to a half finished canvas with a man in a suit. The salesman nods, seemingly impressed with the talent and effort this picture reflects.

"They do look like they are deeply in love there, and I dont know them," he hums softly.

"Yeah, they love each other very much, when I find someone who could be the one, I want to look at each other like Mum and Robin look at each other all the time," Harry smiles, rubbing his arm a little, something he does when he's a bit unsure about something.

Louis turns to him and smiles. "Tell me then, how would you describe a person who could be the one?"

Harry turns beet red and smiles a little, turning his head towards the canvas of his mum smiling. "I'd love someone funny, genuine... You know, someone who laughs at me because I fucked something small up an then helps me bring things back in order. Just someone I wand to imagine my future with...," he mumbles. The smaller man smiles fondly, noding softly. "Same.." But instead of looking at the canvases like Harry does, Louis keeps looking at Harry, neither of the man noticing the fond look on Louis' face.

Harry tears his gaze away from his painings, facing Louis again, but that fond look gone again, just a gentle smile playing on his lips now.

"And what do I have to do?"

"Pretty much just sit on the chair over there and don't sneeze, cough, laugh, talk or turn your head."

The small man sits down slowly amd looks at the artist, "So basically I'm sitting here like I'm a dead man."

"Nope," Harry explains, plopping the p, "you breath. And as far as I know dead things don't breath. That's why they are dead."

"Shut up and draw me."

Harry smiles and shakes his head, making his dimples appear on his face. He quickly gets a big pillow from the couch and thwors it onto the floor. "Just sit down."

Louis watches him and raises his brows. "This pillow won't be comfortable for long."

"Who said you'd sit on it? I will sit on it, you can just get comfortable on the couch." A quiet 'oh' leaves Louis' lips and he sits down, leaning on the arm and back erst of the work down sofa. "And you will do what exactly?," he asks softly.

"I will basically stare at you all the time and breath. Oh, and paint you to the best of my abilities of course," Harry chuckles.

"Sounds about right. Can we talk while you do that?"

"Not sure, actually. I've worked with a friend before and we talked for the whole session and it turned out just fine, but then I worked with someone else and it just ended up looking hidious. So I say we start quiet and then I'll see if I won't fuck it up..?"

Louis smiles and nods, a quiet 'alright Harry' is said before the Artist gets his pens and papers, starting on a fresh painting he hopes won't be fucked over.

Several hours and annoyed sighs from Louis later, Harry finally deems the Portrait finished. He gently puts the pencils down and pops his knuckles, looking back at Louis who already got up to stretch his sore muscles.

"What? We're done. Right?"

Harry smiles and nods gently. "Yeah, we're done."

"Good. Where's your kitchen, I need some tea please," the man exclaims and marches into a room which turns out to be the kitchen. "See, I'm so smart," he calls from there.

"Harry smiles, humming and following the lad, leaning against the doorframe. He watches the man search for something.

Harry silently pushes himself off the frame and walks over to the man, getting the kettle, some mugs and tea together.

Neither of the two said anything, they just prepared some tea and sat down on the couch again, leaning on the opposite armrests.

"Let's play something," Lou proposes while taking a sip from his tea, wrapping his hands around the steaming mug.

"And what?" "Let's play... 'Never have I ever'."

Harry's heard of that game. Usually people ask weird or very private questions he would never answer. But then, Louis is the one asking the questions now. So he lets himself nod a tad.

Louis sends him a bright smile. "I'll start. Ok... Never have I ever....insulted my siblings if I have some?"

Harry chuckles. "Yeah, I have. Like, not very bad insults. I was maybe... & or so,and my sister, Gemma, was teasing me so I called her a 'poophead'. And once, I wrote a letter because I was angry at her. I wrote I would never speak to her again," Harry smiles down at his mug thinking about his younger self. "My mum kept the letter after she found it. The first line was something along the lines of 'I will never speak to you ever again'. And then I added 'I still love you'. So, I'm not sure how insulting that is."

Louis aww's quietly. "You were such a cute baby brother then. I never insulted my sisters when they were younger. Like, sure, called them annoying because that's what a big brother does, but nothing badass like 'poophead'," he remarks, causing Harry to pout playfully. "I call my oldest sister, Lottie, Idiot now sometimes. But like an affectionate kind of insulting."

Harry nods, his sister calls him knobhead from time to time as well so he's pretty familiar with the concept.

"Your turn," Louis mumbles against his mug.

"Never have I ever... took nudes or had some taken?"

"Uh, right to the juicy stuff. But no, I haven't. I know about the cloud and shit. Rather not have my nudes floating around in the web somewhere. You?"

Harry blushes, and takes a sip. "Spill, c'mon Harry"

"Ok.. Yeah.. kinda. Like, it was for an art project of a friend, he's taking college courses in photography and their professor gave them the task to target and express society's problems. And my friend, Lazaar, was like 'He,lets go for toxic masculinity and being soft as a man on the contrary."

"Sounds ok.. But why were you naked though?"

"I wasn't completely naked. Like.. Ok so basically one guy had to symbolize toxic masculinity, when no man could show any weakness of emotion. So half of the pictures turned out with that guy standing, puffing his chest. I painted my favourite one actually. It is a really stong pose, but the guy's face showed he was close to crying. But still, no other emotions than that.

And I was supposed to be the soft masculinity. So instead of all black like the other guy I was just wearing boxers, sitting criss cross on the cold ass floor and getting my haid braided or drinking tea.

Lazaar wanted me to cry as well, but I can't cry on commando, so we scratched that idea."

"Oh, and how did the grade turn out?"

"Passed. I'm not sure if being in boxers there counts as nude, but..yeah."

Louis doesn't say anything in reply, just gently nudged Harry's side with his foot, causing the painter to smile as well.

"My turn.."

That's how the rest of the evening is for them, asking each other random questions.

\---------

"Do you ever think of getting a new couch? It is..kinda... stained."

Harry looks up to him and smiles, turning his attention back to layering noodle sheets and sauce. "I do, also thought of getting new stuff for the flat in general. But my bank account doesn't want me getting new stuff."

Louis toys with the fork he has had in his hands for a while now, watching Harry prepare Lasagna for the two of them. Louis wasn't in the mood to go home, Harry wasn't in the mood to order in because you can only eat so much takeout before it all starts tasting the same.

"Same. That's why I live in a flat with four more people. only pay like 300 for the room and wifi, water as well. Just gas and food and stuff are seperate. And electicity."

Harry hums, noddign slightly. "So it's expensive?"

"So fucking expensive," Louis answeres in a heartbeat. "Me mum sends me little bit every month, only like 100 but thats a lot i can spend on food."

"Well," Harry mumbled, opening the oven and carefully pushing the lasagna on the rack in there, "You don't pay for dinner tonight. So that's a plus."

He leans against the counter, looking at the man in front of him. "So, you wanna watch a movie?"

"Nah, wanna paint."

Harry raises a brow, a little sceptical. "You...want to paint?"

"Obviously. I sit in your flat with five milion brushes and a billion coulours of any kind and you ask me if i want to paint?"

He smiles. "Sure. I'll get some stuff together, just wait and make sure Leo doesn't get on the counter."

"Yeah, unhygenic and stuff."

"What? Oh yeah, that as well. But he has developed a habit of where he sleeps in the microwave whenever it is open."

"Close it then."

"It has a button on the top to open this thing. You don't need much force to press that down. That cat knows how to open it. And I don't want to accidentally close it with him in it. Or microwave him."

"You know what, I'm not even gonna ask if the latter has happened before. Just get my paining stuff ready, I'll make sure the cat doesn't sneak into the microwave." Louis waves his hand, pointing to the living room where the artist usually keeps his painting supplies. When they aren't in the little broom closet.

"Gee thanks. Demanding much again huh?" And he would have to lie when you ask if the gentle 'Always' Louis calls out made him smile.

After setting up the small easel and some colours, as well as some towels he can wash in case any paint gets on them, he walk back into the kitchen, chuckling quietly when he sees Louis holding up a rather annoyed cat.

"I thought you were joking earlier. But he literally tried to get into the ficking microwave."

The taller man shakes his head, smile still on his lips. He graps two oven mitts and quickly pulls out the lasagna, placing it on the oven top. "Told you he's done i before."

Dinner goes relatively smooth, Louis moaning how he hasn't had homemade lasagna in forever and Harry telling him the story of how he made som ewhen he was younger and dropped it on the carped in his old childhood bedroom.

The two migrate to the living room, where the shorter man excitedly squeeks out and sits down on the barstool in front of the canvas.

Harry leans agains the doorframe, smiling at Louis who takes in the different brushes and colours. "Already an idea what you wanna paint?"

"Yeah, but I'm not telling you yet."

Harry huffs playfully, laying down on the sofa, switching on the tv and watching some cooking show while Louis paints away some feet away from him.

"I'm done."

When Harry hears that, he looks at the other man, gets up and walks towards him, just like Louis did earlier the day when he was being painted.

"A family tree?"

Louis nods, and smiles proudly. "It's not a pretty drawing, but I'm a family man. Without them, I honestly wouldn't know what to do."

"That's really sweet. Let me put that aside to dry." With that, Harry gently takes the canvas and places it on an old rug underneath the window.

"So... I changed my mind."

"About what?"

"I really wanna know if you ever microwaved Leo."

"Well...."

\--- 

"Hey, I have a question," Louis blurted, causing Harry to look up to him. The latter nods gently, signaling him to go on.

"So, I saw that the Tate has a new exhibition... I was just wondering.. I don't know... If you wanted to go?" He twiddles his thumbs, looking at the stained carped underneath the window.

"Like..a date?"

With that, Louis just blushes a bit. "I mean, we can go as friends as well, if you want to go as friends only. But if you'd like it to be a date, I have nothing against it. Like..if you want..?"

The taller man smiles gently, sitting up straighter on the couch, subconsciously placing his hand on a dark brown hand shaped print on the textile. Not the first time he got in that position. He has no idea when and how some stains appeared on the couch, but he doesn't have the heart to remove them. And in order to remove them, he would have to throw the whole thing out and buy a new one.

Whatever. Louis asked him on a date.

A proper date. He wasn't out on a date in forever. And it didn't end that well.

"I'd love for it to be a date Louis... Only if you want to as well," Harry smiles assuring. He doesn't want to pressure Louis, he's too important to him -artistically and personally speaking- to lose him now.

"Really?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Dunno, usually people don't want to go on a date with me, they just want a quick trip to the bedroom I guess. Curse my good looks," he chuckles.

But that causes Harry to frown a bit. Why would anyone only see his appearance. Sure, he first fell for those good looks as well, but he came to love the person beneath the looks. The character, the little quirks and habits. Not just the part everybody sees, but the parts Louis chooses to show whenever he's with the curly lad.

"Well, I do want to go on a date with you," Harry chuckles lightly.

Louis blushes and smiles, his face turning a brighter shade of red.

____________________________

Some days later, on a grey Friday afternoon, they meet up again.

Harry enters the small restaurant, closing his umbrella before scanning the area to find his date.

At the far side of the room, close to a portrait of old London City, he sports the man, bundled up in a long raincoat even with the heating inside on. Harry makes his way over to the man and clears his throat before sitting down on the other side of the table.

"How long have you been waiting for?," he asks gently.

"Not for long, maybe 10 minutes."

Harry smiles apologetically. "Sorry, missed the bus and had to walk in this weather."

"Yeah, I see that. You look like you were thrown into a puddle," Louis snickers.

"Rude."

"But I see this time you've remembered to take an umbrella."

"You really will not let me live that down, will you?"

"Only when you're... well... dead. I'll never forget this and I will remind you every time it's raining. Until one of us isn't there anymore."

"Well, aren't you a sunshine today. What's wrong? Why so dark today?"

"Dunno, really," Louis mumbles and looks around a bit. "Was in a fight with one of my flatmates earlier. They are so irritating, I swear to god."

Harry leans back in his chair and looks at the man who seems to dodge every effort of making eye contact. "Why? Tell me."

"Because.."

So they end up sitting at the table for about two more hours, Louis ranting about his flatmates and Harry listening patiently to the complaints. The two drink some tea while they talk, and share a big plate of chips.

So, two hours later than they originally had planned to, they entered the gallery.

Big and small frames behind glasses and cords decorate the plain white walls, dozen of people walking from frame to frame, just staring, not thinking before they move on.

"Why did you want to go to a gallery instead, like, somewhere everyone else would go for a date."

"Because everyone else goes for dinner or movies, and that's boring. And, we both know we couldn't afford the restaurants those rich people go to for dating," Louis chuckles quietly.

"That's true. I, really, don't get why people go to the cinema for a date. You don't talk. You just exist next to each other while you stare at a screen."

Louis looks at him and smiles, nodding slightly.

"And you like art. I saw the flyers around town and was just thinking of you. Like, how you'd like it."

Harry smiles, nose scrunching up, slightly fond. "I really like it. Thank you."

The two walk from frame to frame, much like the other visitors, Harry keeping Louis slightly in front of him at all times, so he always has a clear view on the paintings and photographs, and Harry always having a clear view on the other man.

Harry knows the painter well, one of his favorite expressionists of the 20th century. He's read it all, interpretations, biographies.

Whenever Harry can he just goes on and on about the painter, the reason his art is the way it is, the symbolism in the colors and the connection to the mental health issues the artist faced during a certain period of his life.

And Louis listens, fascinated by all the knowledge Harry seems to always hide away. "If I wouldn't know any better I'd think you'd be the annoying art kid that just thinks they know about art, he remarks at some point.

Harry smiles and blushes, he didn't realize he talked about so much. "I guess i am. But I actually know what I'm talking about."

"You said he was influenced by.."

"His wife and daughter. Hence the violet in many of his paintings since 1904. His daughter was like 2 at that time and apparently she expressed a strong liking towards the color violet. And he was in love with her as well, so he tried to use as much violet shades as possible in order to make her love his works even more."

"Than's really cute. Do you also have such an inspiration?"

Harry looks down to him and smiles. "Figure it out." With that he moves forward to the next frame, dark purple and whites and grey fighting for dominance on the canvas.

They spend four hours in the gallery, walking from picture to picture, talking and discussing after Harry provided a bit of background information on the artist.

The two exit the warm shelter into the harsh winds of London night, cars and hopper buses speeding by when the traffic is flowing.

"I don't get it. Tell me."

"Huh?"

"If you have an inspiration. I don't figure out if you do."

Harry chuckles, his breath becoming visible in the mid-autumn air.

"Remember what I told you when we first met?"

Louis thinks it over. "You needed an umbrella." harry laughs gently.

"Ok, second time we met, after you gave me the sunflower?"

"That you never watched Titanic."

"Louis," Harry laughs gently. "No, between these two. I said I want to paint you because you inspire me."

There's silence between the two men, only cars and people filling the air between them with noise.

"So...."

"You are my inspiration, I use blue in so many drawings since I met you, because I can't stop thinking about your eyes. Everything I make is gentle, no hard edges. I draw simply because you don't have hard edges as well. you're gentle, soft - physically and emotionally."

Louis looks up at him the entire time, a shy smile playing on his lips, a blush and the cold breeze causing his face and hands to have a slight red tone to them.

"Really?," he asks - so quiet, you could miss it between the car noises.

Harry nods his head, smiling, fond taking over his face. He doesn't want to fight it, it would just end up making him look weird. He looks at his date, the yellow street lights causing Louis to have dark shadows underneath his eyes. But Harry doesn't care. to him, this man is the most inspiring, best looking person in his life.

What he didn't expect, however, was Louis squishing his smaller hands into Harry's coat pockets alongside his own in this very moment.

"Hands are cold."

The taller man grins, cheeks hurting a bit from smiling for a long time. "How about this?"

He gently removes the two pairs of hands from his pockets and takes Louis' left in his right, linking the fingers together gently.

"One is getting warmth from me, the other gets it from your own pocket," he chuckles.

Louis smiles and breaths out a soft 'yeah, nice' before putting his unoccupied hand in his pocket as well.

The two man start walking towards Louis flat, Louis leading the way to the small house. They talk about everything and nothing on the way. From "What would happen if pigs really were to evolve wings because we always say we want them to fly" to "Do you think there is a god somewhere out there, or does the universe have power itself without a representative".

Of course Louis takes the long route to the house, walking almost two miles in the cold evening, but neither of them minded. They enjoy each others company without many words, comfortable silence stretched between them.

When they finally arrive at the small house Harry looks around. The streets were empty, just parked cars on the sidewalks.

"i really liked tonight.. well today..," Louis whispers.

"I did as well," Harry answers just as quietly. "But...why are we whispering.?"

"Because my flatmates know I'm on a date and I don't want them to listen to us saying goodbye for the day."

harry chuckles softly. "Sleep tight, Lou."

"You too, Harry." Louis gently kisses the other mans cheek and fumbles the key out of his pocket, unlocking the door and entering the cozy home, quietly closing the door behind him after smiling at Harry one more time.

And it would be a lie if one told you the artists didn't smile on his way home.


End file.
